


The End of Easter

by Useless19



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-16
Updated: 2012-12-16
Packaged: 2019-05-20 16:59:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14898441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Useless19/pseuds/Useless19
Summary: ...or Hope Sparks Brightest in the Dark.In the years after Pitch's attack, Easter's been having trouble getting back on its feet. Pitch just makes things worse for Bunnymund.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For the Rise of the Guardians kink-meme: http://rotg-kink.dreamwidth.org/1511.html?thread=94695#cmt94695f
> 
> Transferred over from my fanfiction.net account.

It's been a rough couple of Easters since Pitch's attack. Sandy and Tooth have been forgiven, their lapse forgotten by the children of the world since they'd been back to work within a few days. However, Easter only comes once a year and even though Bunnymund's put more effort into the past three years than he has in centuries, there still aren't half as many children believing in him as he'd gotten used to.

It's going to take _years_ to straighten the whole bloody mess out.

If the other Guardians notice anything, they don't mention it, they just chalk it down to Bunnymund being his usual snappish self. He'd like to see _them_ keep a happy face on when being the sheer embodiment of hope and everything that entails.

Bunnymund knows he's not going to be able to stand many more Easters that involve losing more believers to age than he gains. He's already feeling _short_ , which is more than a bit annoying.

The other Guardians know better than to bother Bunnymund in the days before Easter, but he notices them out of the corner of his eye sometimes, though he ignores them to focus on his painting. They help a little, painting a few eggs here and there, herding the masses into the river or down the right paths.

Tooth favours green and purple patterns of feathers, while Frost likes his blue and white snowflakes. North's brush always has a bold shade on it, usually red, and Sandy's eggs turn out golden-yellow and occasionally glittery.

Bunnymund _is_ grateful, but he's too busy to thank them right now.

A black-painted egg wobbles its way in front of Bunnymund, who tears his gaze away from his paints and brush for the first time in hours. What kid's going to want a black egg? Bunnymund gets up, stretching out the kinks in his back as he does so, and goes to catch the rogue egg that's probably Frost's idea of a joke.

The black egg scuttles away, bumping into a freshly painted orange egg nearby. To Bunnymund's horror the orange egg starts to turn black where it was hit. Like a disease the darkness spreads, until there are two black eggs.

Bunnymund lunges for the first black egg before it reaches the clump of eggs on the riverbank. It crumbles to dust in his paw, leaving his fur feeling grimy. There's only one person who could've done that.

“Pitch,” Bunnymund snarls.

“I'd pay more attention to that little one bumbling through the others,” Pitch's voice comes from every shadow the warren has to offer, which – though brightly lit – is quite a few.

Bunnymund whips his head around to see the previously-orange-now-black egg well into the collection of brightly coloured eggs, the blackness spreading behind it.

Bunnymund springs into action, plucking the unaffected eggs from the batch and trapping the infected ones under baskets. He's quick, but it's still fifteen minutes work down the drain and that's not time he's going to be able to make back up before Easter Sunday.

“Oops, there goes another one,” Pitch sounds like he's enjoying this.

“Blast it,” Bunnymund manages to catch the infected egg before it touches any others this time, “You bloody whacker.”

Pitch's laugh echoes through the warren, which feels cold and... _dull_.

“Happy Easter,” Pitch says and though Bunnymund knows he's vanished, the warren doesn't recover its brightness.

Bunnymund takes time he can't afford to check through his stores of eggs to make sure there aren't any black eggs hidden and waiting to spread their infection.

Even if he calls the other Guardians for help, it's still going to be worse than '68. Bunnymund sighs and starts the eggs down the tunnels, before heading out himself for backup.

He's _tired_ and it feels like he's lost another inch. He'll be shorter than Frost in no time if this keeps up.

 

* * *

 

From the growing shadows in the warren, Pitch looms over a clutch of eggs. The grass around his feet withers and twists. The black infection dances on his fingertips, but he decides against it.

“No,” Pitch murmurs into the still warm but darkening tunnels of Spring, “This _won't_ be my fault.”

After all, it's easy to hold onto hope when there's something you can _fight_. If Easter falls on its own then that's something else entirely.

Pitch fades back into the darkness and waits for the collapse of hope.

 

* * *

 

Easter Sunday dawns and it's not enough. Despite the preparation, the effort, and the help; there aren't enough eggs, plain and simple. Not enough to appeal to _all_ the children at any rate. There can't be intricately hidden ones for the older kids if the younger won't be able to find any easily, just as there can't just be simple hiding places or the older children will get bored of the day too early.

Bunnymund does what he can, but even someone as fast as him can't be everywhere at once. A few parks benefit and most of the children in them look up and gasp when Bunnymund darts past them, but there's just as many, if not more, places where kids that _should_ believe walk through Bunnymund like he isn't there.

The others try to help, but it's like propping up a collapsing tunnel with twigs and prayers. Not gonna happen.

When night rolls around on Easter Monday and Sandy returns to his dreamsculpting, Bunnymund's knackered. His fur feels like it's too heavy for him and he itches at the lack of hope that's been inspired today.

“Hey, Kangaroo,” Frost drops out of the sky – or possibly a tree, Bunnymund wasn't paying attention – with a familiar grin and taunt. Normally it would get Bunnymund riled up, but he couldn't care less right now.

“Rack off,” Bunnymund sighs without heat.

“Bunny?” Frost sounds concerned. It's an odd look on him.

“I'm losin' my touch,” Bunnymund says dejectedly, “Can't even make enough provisions to deal with Pitch messing up a few and you lot not puttin' them in the right places.”

“Hey,” Frost protests, “I did what you said!”

“Maybe I should just give it all up,” Bunnymund continues, ignoring Frost, “Easter's not been the same for decades. People ain't talking about the Easter Bunny anymore.”

“Don't talk like that!” Frost's starting to sound downright alarmed now, “We can put more time aside to help next year to help.”

“I'm the bloody Easter Bunny, I should be able to make Easter happen on my own. I've done it for years,” Bunnymund says.

“Then maybe it's time you took a break,” Frost tries to reason, and if Bunnymund wasn't feeling so down he'd laugh at the thought of Frost being the voice of reason, “Kick back and relax, we can take care of it.”

Bunnymund just shakes his head and thumps a foot on the ground to open his tunnels. It takes longer than it should for the tunnel to respond. He's just _tired_.

There's hope that things will get better, but hopes have a nasty habit of being disappointed recently.

Frost doesn't follow down the tunnel, but Bunnymund has the feeling that he's going to be bombarded with visits from the other Guardians soon enough. He runs without a fixed destination through the warm green warren –

– right into a net of shadows and darkness.

“What the –” Bunnymund yelps, his struggles to get out only twisting himself up in the dusty black ropes further.

“Did you have a good Easter?” Pitch asks, stepping out of Bunnymund's shadow.

“You!” a hot surge of anger shoots through Bunnymund, “This is your fault, you slimy, connivin' –”

“What? That bit of fun?” Pitch leans down, his usual dark smile firmly in place, “I thought you could stand to lose just one tiny clutch of eggs. Did that really make or break Easter?”

Bunnymund has to fight to keep the anger there. Luckily Pitch always inspires frustration along with his fear.

“Face it, this wasn't _my_ fault,” Pitch says, “Not when your friends broke as many eggs as they painted.”

“They wouldn't've...” but there's a stab of doubt from Pitch's words.

“Really? After Jack's spent so many years making it a _white_ Easter?” Pitch presses his advantage, “And North always arguing for _Christmas_ being better?”

“Stop it,” Bunnymund demands.

“Teeth are quite a bit smaller and lighter than eggs, aren't they?” Pitch muses.

“Stop it.”

“And dreams rarely feature eggs or the right colours,” Pitch says.

“ _Stop it_ ,” Bunnymund snaps, further entangling himself in the net in his attempt to get to Pitch.

“You just couldn't pull together a _real_ holiday this year,” Pitch says, “Do you really think you're going to do better next year?”

Bunnymund flinches and that's when Pitch strikes. He blows a handful of black sand Bunnymund's face. Sandy's sand feels like warm sunshine washing over Bunnymund's fur, _this_ feels like pure unadulterated terror creeping up his spine.

Darkness pulls Bunnymund under and the last thing he remembers is Pitch's unnerving grin.

 

* * *

 

Pitch pulls the net of shadows up and forms legs for it to scuttle on like a spider. Its prisoner sleeps fitfully as Pitch leads it deep into the earth. Deeper than even the most persistent sunlight can reach.

As he opens a dank and dismal passage to a well of secrets that nothing has ever returned from, Pitch hesitates. Even down the well, it'll take time for hope to be extinguished and Pitch doesn't fancy his chances against the other Guardians when they inevitably come to him once their friend turns up missing.

Fear without hope is beautiful, but what if hope can be convinced to lead to more fear?

The entrance to the well closes off and Pitch waves the creature back into the midst of the lair.

“Over here, I've got a better idea.”

The creature of shadow, net, and spider's legs follows its creator. Its captive's dreams take a turn for the worse.

 

* * *

 

When Bunnymund comes to he finds himself in a cage. One of Pitch's creations that holds its prisoners with more than the twisted bars. He knows he's deeper underground than any of his tunnels go. Knows this because he'd gotten this far down once or twice before and Pitch had promptly chased him back into the warm light of the warren.

The Boogeyman himself is nowhere in sight. That doesn't mean he can't step out at a moment's notice from any of the many shadows that make up the place under children's beds.

He can't open a tunnel this high off the ground, so Bunnymund pushes at the bars and tries to reach a paw through to get at the lock. Neither attempt works, but Bunnymund keeps trying anyway. Hope sparks brightest in the dark before dawn after all.

He's got his hindpaws pressed against one side of the cage and his back firmly against the other to try and bend the bars out when Pitch makes his appearance. Pitch watches silently until Bunnymund has to give up the attempt and stretch out his shoulders as best he can in the cramped space.

“Given up yet?” Pitch asks.

“Never,” Bunnymund replies, looking for another way to break out, “Hope doesn't give up ya know.”

“You're not leaving there without my say-so,” Pitch says.

“That's what you think,” Bunnymund says, trying to reach the chain that's suspending the cage from the ceiling. Even if the cage doesn't break when dropped, he'll still be close enough to the ground to burrow out. “Never had anyone _hopin'_ you'd leave them alone before?”

It shouldn't take an encounter with Pitch to make Bunnymund feel like himself again, but so far it's the only thing that's given him clear lines in the sand to work with.

Judging by the frown on Pitch's face, Bunnymund's remark hit home. However, Pitch shakes it off and returns to his creepy smile.

“Maybe if you'd merely stayed the spirit of hope,” Pitch says, “Then you might've been a threat to me. But with your decision to join the Guardians you don't channel hope properly anymore. You'll never get that back. Was it worth it to rely on fickle beings whose belief is so hard to cultivate?”

“Oi! Don't talk about the ankle-biters that way,” Bunnymund snaps, trying to ignore how accurate Pitch can be when he puts his mind to it, “They're mine to protect and I won't hear you slagging them off.”

“Protect them... from in here?”

“Stuff it,” Bunnymund stops his escape attempts for the time being and turns to face Pitch with a scowl, “Let me out and I'll show you _exactly_ how I can protect them.”

Something gives a whispery whinny from the shadows behind Bunnymund and he turns as fast the the cage will allow him to. There isn't anything there, but he slips a boomerang into his paw anyway.

“That's not how this works,” Pitch says, right by Bunnymund's ear.

The boomerang gets thrown reflexively and ricochets against the side of the cage and into Bunnymund's shoulder. Pitch laughs from the other side of the bars. He's standing a lot closer and if Bunnymund's arm could fit through the bars, his paw would be able to reach Pitch.

“Not funny,” Bunnymund huffs.

“I thought it was,” Pitch says, “And I'll bet Jack likes that kind of fun too.”

“You gonna do anythin' or just talk me to death?” Bunnymund asks, because Pitch is far too effective when he talks and shutting him up's the only thing Bunnymund can try right now.

Pitch laughs. It's cold and echoes around the cavern until it sounds like it's everywhere. “That will do for now,” Pitch says, stepping back into the shadows, “But we'll have lots to talk about soon enough.”

Bunnymund allows himself to slump in the cage and cradle his head in his paws. He's not strong enough to defeat Pitch on his own, might not ever be if he can't get Easter up and running again. He thinks of the warren, tries to picture its life and colour, but all he can remember is faded greys and dying plants.

Bunnymund kicks the side of the cage harshly. He's a doer, not a thinker, and the last thing he wants is to sink into despair. He looks for another way out of the cage and tries to ignore the fact that maybe, just maybe, Pitch had been right.

 

* * *

 

Jack skips into the workshop, purposely leaving patches of frost where his footsteps land to make the elves slip. It's always fun to watch the little guys trip and fall and blame each other for it. Sometimes it catches a yeti off guard, however they barely tolerate Jack as it is, so he only lets that happen every now and then rather than _every_ visit.

“Jack Frost!” North's greeting is as cheerful as ever. He slings a heavy arm around Jack's shoulders and sweeps him through the organised chaos that is the workshop, “What brings you here? We are on time for Christmas this year, no worry there.”

“It's about Easter,” Jack says.

North's face twists in a moue of distaste. “Should you not be speaking to Bunny about that?”

“That's just it,” Jack says, “I tried, but he didn't listen to me. It's, well, Easter hasn't been the best recently and I think Bunny's feeling down about it.”

“True,” North says, nodding, “He has not challenged Christmas's worth for many months. Is possible he feels Easter has been let-down this year.”

“Do you think we could cheer him up?” Jack asks.

“Perhaps,” North replies, “It will be good excuse for feast, yes?”

“Yeah,” Jack says, “That sounds good. I'll go fetch him and pass the word onto Tooth and Sandy.”

Jack leaps out of one of the windows and tumbles toward the thick snowdrift beneath. He laughs as the winds catch him at the last second, kicking a flurry of snow into the air behind him. He directs the winds to take him to Tooth's palace.

Tucked into Jack's hoodie pocket, hidden from the days of Easter and coated with a thin layer of ice, there's an egg with a splash of colour on it.

 

* * *

 

It's been a few days in the shadow realm and Bunnymund's only contact with anything other than the cage bars is Pitch's random visits. Sometimes it's the same arguments, sometimes Pitch arrives with a particularly nasty grin and he presents Bunnymund with a new angle.

“ _Your friends don't even care that Easter's been declining._ ”

“ _What's a few thousand eggs to the millions of teeth and dreams that the others deal with every night?_ ”

“ _There's ice around again, and so soon into Spring. It's like Jack doesn't consider you enough of a threat to stay out of your territory._ ”

“ _Have you looked in a mirror recently? I wouldn't believe in you if you tried to deliver eggs looking like that. What are you, Jack's height now? Tooth's? Sandman's?_ ”

“ _No one mentions the Easter Bunny. They probably won't even be surprised if you just didn't show up._ ”

The problem with Pitch's words is that they're always drawn from personal fear and truth. No matter how much Bunnymund argues and snaps, every word leaves a niggling itch of doubt and worry behind. The itch only gets worse when Pitch leaves to do whatever he does and Bunnymund's left alone with his thoughts.

Only a few days since Easter, but it feels like so much longer. A few nightmares have braved Bunnymund's boomerangs and a couple get through and give him a few fitful hours of unconsciousness filled with dark dreams. It helps Pitch's words burrow deeper and it's all Bunnymund can do to keep hoping.

His escape attempts slow, then stop entirely. Pitch lets him out of the cage when he next returns and when Bunnymund straightens up on the dark ground it's clear he's a good foot shorter than he should be.

“Look at you,” Pitch practically crows, “Why choose fickle belief over hope?”

Bunnymund's just too tired to retort with more than an angry glare. Pitch twists his face into something that could be called sympathetic if the person calling it so had never been shown the slightest bit of kindness.

“I know a way you can change that,” Pitch says, his voice dropping low as though he doesn't want anyone else to overhear, “A way you can rely on hope and only hope. And what's better to give hope than _fear_?”

It shouldn't be tempting, it shouldn't be something Bunnymund considers, but it is. Easter hasn't been working and nothing the other Guardians have tried has made any progress either.

Maybe it's time to try something different. Bunnymund says a silent goodbye to his friends before sizing Pitch up.

“You won't hurt the ankle-biters,” Bunnymund bargains.

Pitch takes a long moment to think about it, then slowly nods. “Pain isn't necessary for fear.”

“And you won't try to kill the other Guardians again.”

Again, it takes a while for Pitch to agree. “You have my word.”

Bunnymund sticks out a paw and this time there's no hesitation from Pitch before he grasps it with his hand, which has the chill of sunless gravestones to it. They shake and the bargain is sealed.

“Alright, I'm in,” Bunnymund says, “But there's something I've gotta do first.”

 

* * *

 

The shore is empty when Bunnymund steps out onto it from his tunnels, shivering in the breeze. A dark, clouded night leaves no reason for people to be at the beach.

Bunnymund straightens and walks slowly across the sand and into the waves. The water's cold and makes his fur clump unpleasantly. Still, Bunnymund pushes forward until he hits the edge of the shelf. The water's up to his chest now, but another step will send it straight over his head.

Bunnymund takes a breath and dives in. The salt stings his eyes and he has to close them, but it's still an easy matter to find the seabed. A couple of thumps on the silty ground then a powerful kick-off to escape the sudden current and Bunnymund's done what he came here to do.

He reaches the surface and swims back to shore quickly, before he can change his mind. The water will wash out the drab shades that once were colours. The salt will kill the twisted mockery of shoots and buds. The journey here had shown that there's nothing worth saving in the tunnels that wind from one end of the Earth to the other.

The warren will be drowned and Bunnymund tries to kid himself that he's glad about it. It needed doing, there's nothing left for him there, but it still _hurts_ like nothing ever has before.

Pitch is waiting for Bunnymund when he steps out of the cold ocean water.

“I appreciate that must have been hard for you,” Pitch says.

“Like you'd bloody well know,” Bunnymund snaps, not in the mood to deal with sympathy, false or otherwise.

Pitch gets a faraway look as he speaks. “I had to open a home of mine to the sunlight once.”

He doesn't say anything else on the subject, but he puts a hand on Bunnymund's head and it doesn't feel as grimy as it used to. Pitch lets Bunnymund watch the sea swirling into the warren's tunnels as long as he needs to before drawing him into the shadows and away from this place.

 

* * *

 

“Do you guys hear that?” Jack asks, his head cocking to try and pinpoint the roaring sound.

Jack, North, and a small collection of Tooth's helpers are combing the warren for any sign of Bunnymund. It's been a few days now and Jack is beginning to wish the meandering tunnels were less prevalent.

He's also wishing that Bunnymund could be _found_ , he's never been missing for this long before, not when people are actively searching for him anyway.

North doesn't respond to Jack's question, busy with shifting rocks out of the way of yet another winding tunnel, and the fairies are nowhere in sight. Jack gets up from where he's crouched up high as a lookout and lands lightly on the ground. The sound is familiar and getting louder every second. Jack tightens his grip on his staff.

Jack finally recognises the sound the moment he sees white froth and water rushing for him.

“North!” Jack yells, freezing the oncoming wave, but hearing the roaring of fast-travelling water coming from other directions too, “We need to leave!”

Tooth's helpers flitter out of a side tunnel as fast as they can, squeaking desperately. Jack doesn't have to speak fairy to understand what's behind them. Another twist of his staff and the water chasing down the fairies is frozen too.

“Everyone through!” North calls, accompanied by the _whoosh_ of one of his globes breaking into a portal to the workshop.

Tooth's helpers are first through. North waits for Jack to get close before entering the portal himself. Jack tries to fend off the many _many_ rivers of water with ice, but misses one behind him and is blasted through the portal in a spray of water and slush.

The portal closes behind Jack, cutting off the water. Unfortunately a good deal still got through with Jack and there's going to be a lot of clean-up for the yetis.

“What -” Jack coughs up some slush and rolls onto his back, “What was that?”

“That was bad sign,” North says gravely, putting a hand against his belly, “We must contact other Guardians.”

Jack watches his reflection in the spilled water as North goes to light the beacon. He thinks of the darkened tunnels and dead grasses in the empty warren. He worries.

“Hold on, Bunny.”

 

* * *

 

Travelling within shadows is nearly as bad as North's bloody sleigh. There might not be the sickening lurches and sudden drops, but there's complete lack of sensation to tell which way's up in the darkness. Bunnymund doesn't know how Pitch can tell where he's going, but they always wind up where they want to go.

The shadows sink through Bunnymund's fur too, leaving him feeling like he's been dragged through a chimney and covered in soot – yet another way North gets around that Bunnymund just doesn't understand. It all makes him homesick for his tunnels, but he can't got back to them now.

Pitch waits for Bunnymund to shrug off the feeling, but it's clear he's impatient to get started. The man can be as giddy as Tooth over a child's first perfectly taken care of tooth.

“Keep ya fur on,” Bunnymund says, giving himself a final shake, “I'm ready.”

Pitch leads the way, slipping from shadow to rooftop shadow. Bunnymund chases after, muscles burning with the exertion, and he can't stop. Even though the dark of night strips the world of its colours, it's good just to get out and _race_ again.

A cheerful laugh sounds through the night air and Pitch's head snaps to the side to look for the source as Bunnymund's ears perk up. Between them it's an easy feat to find a tent pitched in a back garden and full of children. Probably a birthday party.

It must be the lamp they're using in the tent, but there a ghost of a colour that could be blue and not blue at the same time shimmering around the children. It's hard to focus on and Bunnymund just puts it down to being tired and missing the colours that used to decorate the warren.

Bunnymund and Pitch crouch on the roof, watching over the children as they play games and laugh. It makes Bunnymund uncomfortable in his gut to even be considering spoiling such innocent joy, but he's trying this Pitch's way and this is what Pitch has planned.

“Shall we?” Pitch asks, already slipping off the roof and landing on the lawn silently.

Bunnymund follows. The grass under his paws pulses with life, but doesn't take its usual opportunity to grow buttercups and clover where he treads. Bunnymund tries to ignore it, reasoning that it'll start happening again once he's got some power back.

Pitch is in his element as he circles the tent. With a snap of his fingers the light goes out and the children scream at the sudden darkness.

Bunnymund takes his turn to open the back door, making a point of it, as though a parent's coming to help, the colour ghosting over the children brightens and Bunnymund frowns at it.

Pitch makes the zip on the tent stick and the children have to wriggle out through the opening at the bottom. There are tear-streaks on a couple of their faces. The blue shimmer dies down on most of them when they see that there's no one at the door.

Except on one little girl in pigtails, instead the blue flares up on her as her gaze falls on Bunnymund, who hasn't quite hidden himself yet.

“Look!” she gasps and runs over to him.

The blue lights up on the children, one after another, as they too see Bunnymund. He can taste the hope and feel the rush of belief the children inspire. They all start talking at once and Bunnymund can barely keep up.

“Good, you've finished snivelling.”

The children scream again and hide behind Bunnymund as Pitch steps out of the shadows. He's enjoying this and, heaven help him, Bunnymund is too.

“Will you protect us?” the first little girl asks Bunnymund, tugging on his fur, “Please, Mr Easter Bunny.”

The blue-not-blue is flickering on and off on all the kids, though it's still brightest on her.

“'Course I will,” Bunnymund answers. He stands up straight and stares down Pitch. “You'll have to go through me to get them.”

Out of the corner of his eye he can see the blue flare up again, only to dim down when Pitch laughs.

“I'd like to see you try,” Pitch says, snapping his fingers again and taking out a nearby streetlight. The new shadows draw themselves around him and make him seem bigger. The children press together and one or two whimper.

That's a challenge Bunnymund can't pass up and, quick as a blink, he flings a boomerang at Pitch. It's unreheased, but Pitch catches the boomerang with spare shadow and stumbles back as though it hit home. The children cheer and the blue ignites.

Pitch makes a show of sending shadows and Bunnymund fights back, eventually barely winning out. Pitch fades away into the dark, vowing revenge and the blue-not-blue around the children is bright.

A light goes on in the house. “What's with you kids?” a well-worn voice calls out.

“Time for me to go,” Bunnymund says and darts away from their grabbing hands and protests.

He finds Pitch on a rooftop several houses away. He can tell because the shadows are particularly dense and flickering in the moonless star-filled night sky.

“Did you see how scared they were?” Pitch asks gleefully, he's moving rapidly, making half-formed motions to accompany his words, “They were _crying_ from the dark! Oh, _yes_! Haha _ha_! That's what I want to see!”

“They believed in me,” Bunnymund says, more to himself than Pitch, “And I felt it. Their hope too, it was blue.”

Pitch looks contemplative. “Blue?” he asks, “How strange.”

“Sort of blue. I can _see_ it,” Bunnymund says, excitement growing, “I've never seen hope before.”

“Fear's not quite like shadows, more like ash,” Pitch puts in, “I've always been able to see it. Given time you may even be able to tell what drives those hopes.”

“It's amazin',” Bunnymund says. Like Pitch, he can barely keep back the joyful laughter or stay still. His ears are upright and swivelling to pick up any new sounds, “C'mon, let's find some more.”

Without thinking, Bunnymund grabs Pitch's hand with his paw to drag him off in search of more children. Pitch yanks his hand back and cradles it against his chest, something close to fear on his face.

And Bunnymund's seen the Boogeyman scared and hunted by his own nightmares, he knows what fear looks like on Pitch Black.

“You comin' or what?” Bunnymund asks, trying to keep things light and easy.

“Yes,” Pitch says quickly.

Bunnymund must be more tired than he thought, because there's no way a spark of blue-not-blue just flickered over Pitch's shoulders.

Pitch takes the lead again and fear and hope laugh as they run through the night. Exhilaration filling both of them as they search for those in need of blue-not-blue and ash-black. A boy of nine. Another sleepover of several kids, this time indoors. Twin girls in fear of what lay beneath their bunkbeds. A small boy of maybe three and his older sister, both brave and wary of the wardrobe.

Bunnymund is racing after Pitch, when a familiar scent fills his nostrils and his ears catch fluttering and the crackle of newly-formed ice.

“Look out!” Bunnymund calls, putting on an extra burst of speed to grab Pitch and pull him out of the way of a snaking tendril of golden sand.

They tumble to the ground in the alley. Bunnymund's on his feet in an instant. He doesn't reach for his boomerangs, he can't, these are his friends. However, he makes sure there's definitely shadow behind him and Pitch, in case Pitch wants to make a quick getaway.

The ghostly blue flare is bright around the Guardians as they form a sloppy semi-circle around Bunnymund and Pitch. North and Jack are on the ground, each with their weapons held loosely in their hands. Tooth flutters in place on the other side of North while Sandy floats next to Jack.

Looks like that's their plans well and truly scuppered.

 

* * *

 

When Jack sees Bunnymund for the first time since Easter it's a shock. Jack won't ever forget the difference he'd seen on the Easter he became a Guardian, when Bunnymund turned into a normal-sized rabbit from lack of belief.

This is worse.

Bunnymund's hunched over, his fur drab from more than Pitch's shadow. If he stands up straight the top of his head might just reach Jack's chin. Even his eyes, once a bright spring-green, have lost their lustre. There's something feral about him and Jack wonders how much of his friend's still in there.

“Pitch!” North says angrily.

Pitch flinches the tiniest amount at that and Bunnymund straightens up just as much.

“Easy there, mate,” Bunnymund says, “Gonna tell us what's got your tail in a twist?”

It surprises most of them. Jack knows better, he's got first-hand experience of how persuasive Pitch can be when he wants to be and with how down Bunnymund's been recently, it's no real shock that Pitch managed to get involved to make things as bad as they could be.

They've made rough plans for getting Bunnymund to North's workshop and working out things from there, but given the way Bunnymund is tensed up, ready to run, it's going to be difficult catching him. After all, no matter how Jack might argue about it, in a straight race Bunnymund has the edge, since he's much more used to running than Jack is.

Add in Pitch willing to help the escape with his shadows and they'll have to play this carefully to win.

“Bunny, we have been worried about you,” North says.

“Funny way of showin' it,” Bunnymund mutters.

“How are we supposed to show it? We're not the Guardians of _worry_ ,” Jack quips.

Bunnymund's mouth pulls back in a snarl and Jack decides he should let the other Guardians take this one. He's not exactly the best at the serious, heartfelt kind of talk. He'd much rather start a snowball fight or a game of tag.

“We've been looking everywhere for you,” Tooth says, “It's been –”

“Obviously not _everywhere_ ,” Pitch interrupts, “Since it's taken you this long to find us.”

Sandy sends a stream of bright sand towards Pitch, obviously aiming for a gag of some kind, but Bunnymund slaps at the golden dust and the shape disintegrates. And if Jack isn't mistaken, that was surprise he saw flit briefly over Pitch's face, only there for a second, like the first teasing snowflakes before a blizzard.

“Don't,” Bunnymund warns darkly, “Not when he's the only one bein' honest.”

“You're believing what he's saying?” Jack blurts out, forgetting his silent promise to let the other Guardians do the talking.

“When it's true!” Bunnymund says forcefully, “When it's stuff I already know. Like Easter.”

“What about Easter?” Jack asks even though he _really_ doesn't want to.

“Come on, it's not like any of you ever really cared about Easter,” Pitch says smugly.

“And you do?” Jack says scornfully.

“I care about _hope_ ,” Pitch says, “I never made any illusions about my feelings for Easter.”

“You really believe this, Bunny?” North asks, sounding pained.

“It's not like you've ever had anything good to say about Easter,” Bunnymund says with a bit of a snap, but he's not looking them in the eye, “Findin' new ways to mess it up whenever you can.”

The words aren't focused on any specific Guardian, but Jack still flinches, feeling like he's broken the unspoken rules of the game.

“Oh, Bunny,” Tooth says, she's wringing her hands and looking both distraught at Bunnymund's pain and like she dearly wants to punch Pitch again. It's an odd look. “You know Easter's important to us, because it's important to _you_. And despite what's happened in the past, you know we'd never intentionally disrupt Easter. Not when we know how important it is and that you'd help us in our times of need.”

“No? Then why don't you show us what's in your pocket, Jack?” Pitch asks, deceptively calm.

Jack freezes up, creating twisting patterns of ice on the concrete beneath his bare feet as everyone turns to look at him. The frozen egg in his hoodie pocket sits heavily, like a lead weight, but Jack doesn't move.

“Jack?” North prompts.

“What's he on about, Frost?” Bunnymund asks, suspicion darkening his eyes as much as Pitch's shadows.

Slowly, Jack reaches into his pocket and draws out the brightly painted blue and green egg he'd put in there. He holds it out on his flat palm and waits for the explosion. He isn't waiting long.

“Is that– Is that one my eggs?” Bunnymund asks, obviously already aware of the answer since betrayal and anger are warring on his furry face.

“Sort of,” Jack replies.

“You– Why would you– _I shoulda bloody well known_!” Bunnymund snaps, his ears pulling back against his head in anger.

“I'm sorry,” Jack says, he still hasn't got the hang of explaining himself – three hundred years of not having to answer to anyone took its toll – but he's got to try, “I didn't mean to –”

“Stuff it,” Bunnymund interrupts.

“Let Jack explain,” Tooth pleads.

“Why bother? We all know what it's gonna be.” Bunnymund snaps, then pitches his voice in a bad imitation of Jack's, “' _It looked like a bit of fun_!'”

Jack flinches while Tooth starts in on Bunnymund, but then he catches sight of Pitch hanging further back and looking very pleased with himself. That above combined with the betrayal he can still see beneath the anger on Bunnymund makes Jack raise his voice and put his bit in.

“It was for you!”

That stops the argument cold. Bunnymund and Tooth look over at Jack in surprise. Jack takes advantage of the confusion his comment generated to fumble through an explanation.

“I've... well, it's... I just figured you've never been given an Easter Egg...” Jack says haltingly, “I... I thought it'd be nice, so I made one to give to you.”

Bunnymund slowly reaches out a paw and Jack drops the egg into it. Bunnymund stares at the egg and Jack hopes it's more than his imagination that some of the usual bright gleam is returning to Bunnymund's eyes.

“You made this.... You made this for me?” Bunnymund clarifies cautiously, as though expecting a trap.

“Yeah,” Jack replies, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly and looking anywhere but at Bunnymund.

In his peripheral vision, Jack can see Bunnymund clutch the egg to his chest protectively, his warm-blooded body heat already melting the thin coat of ice.

The way Bunnymund is curling himself up takes Jack right back that that first Easter. The one where the other Guardian had children walk _through_ him too and the sharp stab of _glad_ that had hit Jack for the shortest moment that wasn't short enough.

“That's a nice thought, Jack,” Pitch says, “But why choose an Easter that was already struggling to survive?”

A series of images flash into being over Sandy's head. Jack catches sight of some eggs, a flower, a person who might be Pitch, and the sun amidst a flurry of others. Jack still can't make heads nor tails of Sandy's pictures unless they're really simple, but it must mean something to the others, because Tooth nods.

“Sandy is right,” North agrees, “Jack meant well. There is no harm in wanting to give gift.”

“No harm? _No harm_?” Bunnymund repeats, and though he's looking brighter and more like himself, the anger's returned in full force, “This isn't bloody Christmas, mate! It's not the bloody thought that counts! Pitch is right, Easter's hangin' by a thread and _I_ need –” Bunnymund cuts himself off suddenly, an unfamiliar expression passing over his face.

Jack doesn't get any time to try and decipher the look before Pitch sweeps shadows and darkness through the alley in a sudden movement. Sandy moves quickly, but by the time his golden dreamsand cuts through the night both Pitch and Bunnymund have vanished.

“Bunny...” Tooth says sadly.

North sighs heavily. “Perhaps we are too late.”

Sandy shakes his head in sorrowful agreement. Jack wants to argue, but he can't. Not after he caused Bunnymund to look that disappointed and hurt. With tired limbs and weary spirits, Jack follows the other Guardians as they make their way back to North's sleigh. He can't shake the guilt that sits uncomfortably in his stomach like fire.

As stupid and childish as it is, what Jack misses most is that he's not going to hear Bunnymund's ' _I told you so_ ' on Jack messing up being a Guardian. Jack scrubs his face with his hoodie sleeve and tries to keep it together as he clambers into the sleigh.

 

* * *

 

In the cavern of darkness and terror, the shadows part to let Bunnymund and Pitch through to the lair. There's a chittering from scuttling creatures on the floor at the splash of bright colour against the blacks and greys of the spirits they've gotten used to.

“I thought that went well,” Pitch says happily, “We might even be able to persuade some others to join our side.”

Bunnymund stares at Frost's gift in his paw and disagrees quietly. “No.”

“What was that?” Pitch asks, then disregards it anyway to reminisce, “You know I almost had Jack a few years ago. I think we should focus on him next. Snow has a way of making children behave in a particular way.”

“No,” Bunnymund says forcefully and takes a step away from Pitch. It's like a veil's been lifted from his eyes and he's seeing clearly for the first time in months. _Colour_ is back and it's _wonderful_ , “It's not about _me_ or _you_ or _Frost_. That's what you don't get, mate. It's not about us, it's about _them_.”

“What?” Pitch says and there's a warning in his voice that Bunnymund ignores.

“I shouldn't be tryin' to _make_ them believe,” Bunnymund says, clutching the bright blue and green egg, “I should be givin' them hope and Easter. It's my holiday, but it's _for_ the little ankle-biters.”

“You've got it wrong,” Pitch snaps harshly, he swipes a hand trailing darkness in front of him, forcing Bunnymund to take another step back, “Children don't do anything you don't force them to do.”

“When's the last time you actually spend time with a sprog?” Bunnymund asks.

“People don't change,” Pitch snarls, “I know what they were like even before the Guardians were formed and that's what they're like _now_.”

“Nah, mate, you should spend some time out in the real world,” Bunnymund says, “You could do some good out there.”

“Good? _Good_?” Pitch's voice drops into a dark growl, “I'm the opposite of _good_.”

“That's what I thought about Frost, but he's found his place,” Bunnymund says, still reeling at how _blind_ and selfish he'd been, “I need to get back to _my_ place too. Good luck with findin' yours, mate.”

Bunnymund heads for the exit. He only makes it a few steps before it's wrapped in shadow and blocked off from both sight and touch.

“Wait,” Pitch says, his voice cracking, “Where are you going?”

“I'm goin' back to where I belong,” Bunnymund replies, “With the Guardians. With Spring.”

“No, you can't,” Pitch says, “No. You can't leave m-” Pitch cuts himself off and pure fury settles on his face, “You're not going to leave here.”

“And you're gonna stop me?” Bunnymund snorts and reaches for a boomerang.

Pitch flings nightmare and shadow. It coalesces into a creature of terror that lands where Bunnymund was a second ago.

Bunnymund races for another exit, darting from side to side to avoid the nightmare's attacks as best he can. The exit closes over like the last, but Bunnymund had been much closer this time. He kicks off the dark wall where the exit had been and flings his boomerang at the nightmare. It clips a chunk of black tendrils off the creature, but it still chases.

Pitch is drawing the shadows in from the walls, blocking the ways out and forcing Bunnymund to avoid the dark. Bunnymund looses his other boomerang at Pitch, but he just steps out of the way and Bunnymund hears it clatter off the far wall and drop to the ground uselessly.

“Out of tricks,” Pitch taunts, taking his own shot of darkness at Bunnymund and missing.

“Not quite,” Bunnymund disagrees.

Bunnymund lunges straight at Pitch and throws the blue and green egg Jack had painted at him. It explodes from Bunnymund's paw in a splash of light and Pitch screams as the colours – so bright and full of joy and life – catch him off guard. The nightmare starts to disperse as its creator loses his grip on it.

Bunnymund wastes no time jumping up and kicking off a pillar to get on top of one of the cages and then shimmying up the chain to the ceiling. The second he reaches the top he starts scrabbling at the earthen roof. It takes a moment, but there's not a thing in the world that can withstand the burrowing of the Easter Bunny.

“No!” Pitch shouts at the first trickle of dirt to fall, but he's still recovering from the colour too much to be able to fight just yet.

“C'mon me beauty,” Bunnymund mutters to the warren, digging as fast as he can, “Don't let me down now.”

There's a ghastly shriek from below as the nightmare reforms and a _whoosh_ of dark wind as it starts up to the top of the lair. Bunnymund's sharp claws break through the dirt and he knows his plea didn't go unheard.

There's a perfect, surreal moment as Bunnymund appreciates what it must be like under the ocean, then he has to jerk out of the way as a torrent of water rips through the newly-created hole and hits the nightmare right in the face. The chain Bunnymund's clutching creaks in protest at his sharp moment, but holds up.

The seawater Bunnymund had left swilling in the warren cascades into Pitch's lair, vanishing down the twisting pathways and shadows. Bunnymund watches it go, holding tightly to the chain and waiting for it to calm down enough to pass through into the warren unscathed.

Something catches Bunnymund's attention from the corner of his eye. Like a flicker of blue, but not quite.

 _Huh_ , fancy that.

Pitch is on his knees, slouched over and not seeming to notice the water rushing over him. He looks for all in the world like he's given up. However, if that were the case then the blue-not-blue flicker wouldn't be dancing around him like a will-o'-wisp.

Bunnymund grits his teeth and drops back down to the ground. He sits back on his haunches in the shallow water in front of Pitch, who still has a smudge of green on his shoulder.

“You comin' or what?” Bunnymund asks.

The blue-not-blue flares up and dies down in a blink and you'll miss it moment. Pitch doesn't move. The water level in the lair is rising. Bunnymund remembers the feel of the saltwater rushing through the warren and makes his decision.

Pitch is lighter than he looks, all weightless shadows, and the main difficulty in hoisting him up the chain is that he's not cooperating. By the time Bunnymund reaches the top again, the torrent of water has calmed down enough to push through, Boogeyman and all.

It's going to be a long time before anything can grow in the warren again, but that just means Bunnymund is going to have his days full like he hasn't in centuries.

It takes some time wandering through knee to ankle deep streams to come across a dry place to put Pitch. Pitch shakes himself and looks around, confused at his surroundings.

“You... why?” Pitch asks, uncertain and shaking very slightly.

“You're a believer, mate, can't just go around leavin' them to die now, can I?” Bunnymund says, crouching down only partly in preparation for if Pitch decides to attack.

“You took me out because I believe in the Easter Bunny?” the derisive tone falls a little short of Pitch's usual standards, but the attempt lifts Bunnymund's spirits.

“Nah, I'm on about hope,” Bunnymund replies.

“Hope?” Pitch sounds like he's never heard of the word before, “I'm the embodiment of fear! I shouldn't be _hopeful_.”

“Like I can't be afraid or joyful, right?”

“I...” Pitch shuts his mouth with a snap.

“That's right,” Bunnymund says, closing the matter, “Now, I'll not have you tryin' to off me again, but until you get that lair of yours sorted there's plenty of shadows around here for the time bein'.”

Pitch looks bewildered, then suspicious. “The Sandman's messing with me, isn't he?”

“Nope,” Bunnymund replies, “Now, if you're apples, I've got some apologisin' to do.”

Without waiting for Pitch to answer, Bunnymund darts off down one of the tunnels. It's wet and cold, but the earth walls are full of browns and reds that are simply gorgeous to behold. Bunnymund's never going to let colour dull in his eyes again.

“Sorry, sheila,” Bunnymund murmurs to the warren as he races through, “Won't happen again.”

There's life still in here, Bunnymund can feel in beneath his paws. He can still picture the place in full bloom and swears to himself that it's going to return to that again. Better even.

The tunnel leads straight to the middle of North's workshop, but Bunnymund stops outside, despite the icy winds and freezing snow. With fresh hope that his friends will be forgiving, Bunnymund knocks on the heavy wooden doors.

 

* * *

 

Bunnymund's knock is answered by a yeti whose name he doesn't know. It's hard to tell under the thick fur, but Bunnymund thinks it looks surprised to see him there.

“Gonna let me in?” Bunnymund prods when the yeti doesn't make a move to open the door further, “Don't fancy sittin' out here in the snow, mate.”

With a grunt and a derogatory mutter on intruders, the yeti steps aside to let Bunnymund inside the workshop. He quickly darts in, shivering half-melted snow to the rough wooden floor. The yeti grumbles more and picks up a mop and bucket. There's more of those than usual scattered about and Bunnymund wonders if there's some story to go with it.

Now's not the time for that though. Bunnymund traces familiar steps to the centre of the workshop and hopefully where North is and maybe Frost too.

All four of the other Guardians are stood near North's map of the believers of the world when Bunnymund arrives. The blue-not-blue is nearly non-existent around them and it drives home exactly how much damage Bunnymund did with his stint with Pitch. The fact that they're _all_ still here is telling enough on its own.

Against the bright colours of the workshop and the Guardians themselves it's difficult to see the ghostly shimmer at all. If Bunnymund didn't know it was there already he probably would've missed it. Well, that explains a few things.

When Bunnymund coughs to announce his presence a hush falls over the group. Their eyes feel accusing, but Bunnymund forces himself to endure it and waits for them to make the first move.

Tooth flies over and hovers in front of Bunnymund. Her hands twitch then she's suddenly pressed against Bunnymund, her arms tight around his neck. Bunnymund wraps his own arms around her in turn and rubs a paw down her feathers.

“I'm back,” Bunnymund whispers to his friend.

Tooth pulls back just far enough to pry open Bunnymund's jaws open and run her fingers over his teeth. Bunnymund lets her because it's fair and she deserves something for what he's put her through. The soft pull of half-forgotten memories waft with Tooth's ministrations, tickling at the base of Bunnymund's ears.

Tooth doesn't spend too long at it, she knows all his teeth well from countless years as fellow Guardians, and soon enough she's hugging him again.

“You need to take better care of your teeth,” Tooth scolds, “They're beginning to look like Pitch's.”

Bunnymund winces. “Can we not talk about Pitch right now?”

Heavy footsteps and Tooth flittering quickly out of the way are the only warnings Bunnymund gets before North sweeps him up in a bone-cracking hug. Bunnymund's feet twitch uselessly, a clear foot or two off the floor.

“Need to breathe, mate,” Bunnymund manages to gasp out of half-crushed lungs.

“You get to breathe when you make good with the apologies,” North says sternly, but he does let Bunnymund back down and keeps a large hand on his shoulder.

“I know, mate, and I don't think I'll ever make up for it,” Bunnymund says sincerely, “I'm sorry. Really, I am.”

“Will you ever do that again?” North asks.

“Never,” Bunnymund promises.

“Then all is forgiven,” North says, with a clap to Bunnymund's back that nearly sends him head over heels, “Now, there is still much work to be done for Christmas and the yeti's could use some pointers on the painting.”

“What? Hang on a tick, I never said anythin' about helpin' with Christmas,” Bunnymund protests, “So you can take that idea and –” North cuts him off with a pointedly raised eyebrow and the wind leaves Bunnymund's sails. He sighs, “Just this once. Got that? I'm not doing this every bloody year.”

North laughs. “Is good to have you back, Bunny. The others, they are not so good with the banter,” he adds conspiratorially.

“Glad to be of service,” Bunnymund says with a roll of his eyes.

“I wouldn't mind some company and help if you're offering,” Tooth puts in sweetly. She smiles brightly when Bunnymund glares at her.

“Just this once,” Bunnymund repeats forcefully, “You want me to make sandcastles for you too, Sandy?”

Sandy shakes his head, smiling widely. Bunnymund crouches down to sit on his haunches and gets a hug from the Sandman. As always, Sandy leaves behind a residual dusting of sand in Bunnymund's fur that's going to make him sneeze for the next few hours, but also let him sleep peacefully the next time he decides to.

When Bunnymund pulls away he's met with a flurry of golden-yellow images that he can barely keep up with.

“Yeah, mate, like I told North, it's not gonna happen again,” Bunnymund promises.

He stands back up and turns to the final Guardian. Frost's been holding himself back, uncertainty clear in his chilly stance. Bunnymund's going to have to take the initiative on this one.

“Thanks for the egg, mate,” Bunnymund says.

Frost blinks. “Really?” he asks, insecurity being betrayed by the cold winds gusting through the room and the icy patterns starting to spread from the point that his staff touches the ground.

“Really,” Bunnymund nods, “Came in handy.”

He's not going to explain further right now, because that would involve bringing up Pitch and Bunnymund would rather avoid that for a while. Only until he gets his head on straight and can think about the past week without wincing, Bunnymund's a doer after all and he'd prefer things to be _sorted_.

Frost rocks back on his heels, still clutching his staff tightly, and Bunnymund can see blue-not-blue smoking up from around the kid's feet like mist from an iced pond.

It takes two quick steps then Bunnymund's got Frost in his arms, holding onto him tightly.

“Thanks, mate,” Bunnymund says, patting Frost's back, “And I'm sorry.”

Frost relaxes into the embrace, threading his fingers through the thick fur on Bunnymund's back. Right now Frost's taller and it's just _weird_ for Bunnymund to have to stretch up to reach his shoulders.

Bunnymund can feel the exact moment when Frost turns back into his mischievous self by the shift in the body under his paws. It's still not enough warning to move before Frost ices all the fur on his back and dances into the air out of reach.

“You bloody ratbag,” Bunnymund snaps, reaching back to retrieve a boomerang only to find that he's left both of them in Pitch's lair and they'd have likely wound up iced in place if he hadn't anyway, “Get back here!”

Frost just lets out a joyful laugh, settling into the tall rafters of the workshop. Bunnymund quickly calculates a route up and gives chase. His claws just manage to swipe through Frost's white hair as the kid waits until the last possible second to drop off the wooden beam and let the winds whisk him around the massive globe. Bunnymund leaps after, paws skidding on the metal surface covered in belief lights.

North laughs boisterously and shouts suggestions and directions. Tooth flits between giggling at them and expressing concern about teeth being knocked out if they're not careful. Sandy creates obstacles and signs to keep the game interesting.

It's family, and even as Bunnymund curses Jack Frost with everything he's got, he won't ever try to force it to change again.

 

* * *

 

There's no sign of the Boogeyman when Bunnymund returns to the still wet and dripping warren. He didn't expect there to be, but it's disappointing nevertheless.

Back to work then. There's a lot to do.


	2. Epilogue - Twenty-three years later

“I see you've gotten all the green back.”  
  
Bunnymund looks up from his painting. Pitch is leaning against a tunnel entrance cast in shadow, looking uncomfortable.  
  
“Right you are, mate,” Bunnymund says, casting an appreciative glance over the warren, “Took some time, but it was worth it.”  
  
It took more than just ' _some time_ ' to coax even the strongest shoots and buds through the salted earth and fill the streams and flowers with colour again. The warren still hasn't fully recovered, but Easter's well on its way to being back on track, even if Bunnymund had to base himself out of North's workshop for the first couple of years.  
  
And hadn't that been a riot of laughs. Bunnymund still shudders to think of it. He's still ridiculously grateful that he hit his usual six-foot-one a decade ago.  
  
No one's seen Pitch properly in all that time either, not as anything other than the instinctive worry of dark places or unknown noises. The voice that whispers of terrors living under the bed to children.  
  
If Bunnymund had the time, he'd consider asking about it, but time's not available right now.  
  
“Park ya arse and grab a brush,” Bunnymund directs, turning back to his own painting, “It's two days 'til Easter and there's a coupla thousand eggs still to go.”  
  
He keeps an ear on Pitch, just in case. It tells him that Pitch approaches slowly, cautiously. Bunnymund gets through at least a dozen eggs of his own before Pitch picks one up along with a spare brush.  
  
“Black's alright, 'slong as there's another colour with it too,” Bunnymund comments, being careful to keep his eyes down. He's biting his tongue to stop himself from saying anything anything that could be taken the wrong way. This is going to be delicate and, despite what certain other Guardians might believe, Bunnymund is pretty good at delicate if he makes the effort – painting eggs requires a light touch after all.  
  
It seems like Pitch is also doing him the same courtesy, since there hasn't been any nasty comments from him so far.  
  
Another dozen eggs make their way through Bunnymund's quick paws before a black and green stripped egg trots into Bunnymund's line of sight. As an artist, Bunnymund can see that the stripes are uneven and the black's smeared into the green in places. As the Easter Bunny on a first-time egg-decorator, it's perfect.  
  
“That's a beaut alright,” Bunnymund says, giving the egg a nudge to join the others crowding near the tunnels, “Fancy a go at another?”  
  
He waits for Pitch's anger or betrayal or _something_. Being the spirit of hope and new beginnings meant that Bunnymund learnt a hard lesson about trust early in his career. The quicker you welcomed people and forgave them for their past mistakes, the quicker they turned on you and used you for their own ends. Only recently, with Jack becoming a decent Guardian and the uprise of Easter, has Bunnymund started to let down some of the barriers he put up to protect his centre.  
  
Along with that, he's been working on seeing the faint signs of hope against the colours that light his world. Bunnymund doesn't think he'll ever manage to tell what's inspiring the hope, like Pitch had suggested, but when he'd talked about it with Jack, the kid had mentioned being able to _cause_ joy with a snowball of white and silver sparkles. Each to their own in the end.  
  
Pitch says nothing, but starts on another egg. There's a silent cheer and sigh of relief from Bunnymund as he picks up another egg of his own.  
  
“You know,” Bunnymund starts, sometime later, “Frost's been talking about this Halloween being a big one, it bein' full moon an' all. I usually try and keep an eye on the blighter, make sure he doesn't get up to too much mischief. Might be your scene if you'd like to come with.”  
  
“I'm rather busy that night,” Pitch replies.  
  
“Shoulda guessed,” Bunnymund shrugs, “Well, me and the kid'll be around if you want to say g'day.”  
  
Bunnymund knows he's going to regret inviting fear to join fun on Halloween of all nights, but he'll be there for damage control and it's about time Pitch got back in the game without trying to destroy the board.  
  
“I'll see,” Pitch says, closing the matter.  
  
The blue spark of hope dances, the brightest it's ever been against the shadows, as Pitch takes an unpainted egg from the clutch and wets his brush with azure pigment.


End file.
